At last there came an absolute necessity for some plain speaking. Captain Aylmer declared his intention of returning to London that he might resume his parliamentary duties. He had purposed to remain till after Easter, but it was found to be impossible. 'I find I must go up tomorrow,' he said at breakfast. 'They are going to make a stand about the poor-rates, and I must be in the House in the evening.' Clara felt herself to be very cold and uncomfortable. As things were at present arranged, she was to be left at Aylmer Park without a friend. And how long was she to remain there? No definite ending had been proposed for her visit. Something must be said and something settled before Captain Aylmer went away.

'You will come down for Easter, of course,' said his mother.

'Yes; I shall come down for Easter, I think or at any rate at Whitsuntide.'

'You must come at Easter, Frederic,' said his mother.

'I don't doubt but I shall,' said he.

'Miss Amedroz should lay her commands upon him,' said Sir Anthony gallantly.

'Nonsense,' said Lady Aylmer.

'I have commands to lay upon him all the same,' said Clara; 'and if he will give me half an hour this morning he shall have them.' To this Captain Aylmer, of course, assented as how could he escape from such assent and a regular appointment was made, Captain Aylmer and Miss Amedroz were to be closeted together in the little back drawing-room immediately after breakfast. Clara would willingly have avoided any such formality could she have done so compatibly with the exigencies of the occasion. She had been obliged to assert herself when Lady Aylmer had rebuked Sir Anthony, and then Lady Aylmer had determined that an air of business should be assumed. Clara, as she was marched off into the back drawing-room followed by her lover with more sheep-like gait even than her own, felt strongly the absurdity and the wretchedness of her position. But she was determined to go through with her purpose.

'I am very sorry that I have to leave you so soon,' said Captain Aylmer, as soon as the door was shut and they were alone together.

'Perhaps it may be better as it is, Frederic; as in this way we shall all come to understand each other, and something will be settled.'

'Well, yes; perhaps that will be best.'

'Your mother has told me that she disapproves of our marriage.'

'No; not that, I think, I don't think she can have quite said that.'

'She says that you cannot marry while she is alive that is, that you cannot marry me because your income would not be sufficient.'

'I certainly was speaking to her about my income.'

'Of course I have got nothing.' Here she paused. 'Not a penny-piece in the world that I can call my own.'

'Oh yes, you have.'

'Nothing. Nothing!'

'You have your aunt's legacy?'

'No; I have not. She left me no legacy. But as that is between you and me, if we think of marrying each other, that would make no difference.'

'None at all, of course.'

'But in truth I have got nothing. Your mother said something to me about the Belton estate; as though there was some idea that possibly it might come to me.'

'Your cousin himself seemed to think so.'

'Frederic, do not let us deceive ourselves. There can be nothing of the kind. I could not accept any portion of the property from my cousin even though our marriage were to depend upon it.'

'Of course it does not.'

'But if your means are not sufficient for your wants I am quite ready to accept that reason as being sufficient for breaking our engagement.'

'There need be nothing of the kind.'

'As for waiting for the death of another person for your mother's death, I should think it very wrong. Of course, if our engagement stands there need be no hurry; but some time should be fixed.' Clara as she said this felt that her face and forehead were suffused with a blush; but she was determined that it should be said, and the words were pronounced.

'I quite think so too,' said he.

'I am glad that we agree. Of course, I will leave it to you to fix the time.'

'You do not mean at this very moment?' said Captain Aylmer, almost aghast.

'No; I did not mean that.'

'I'll tell you what. I'll make a point of coming down at Easter. I wasn't sure about it before, but now I will be. And then it shall be settled.'

Such was the interview; and on the next morning Captain Aylmer started for London. Clara felt, aware that she had not done or said all that should have been done and said; but, nevertheless, a step in the right direction had been taken.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE AYLMER PARK HASHED CHICKEN COMES TO AN END

Easter in this year fell about the middle of April, and it still wanted three weeks of that time when Captain Aylmer started for London. Clara was quite alive to the fact that the next three weeks would not be a happy time for her. She looked forward, indeed, to so much wretchedness during this period, that the days as they came were not quite so bad as she had expected them to be. At first Lady Aylmer said little or nothing to her. It seemed to be agreed between them that there was to be war, but that there was no necessity for any of the actual operations of war during the absence of Captain Aylmer. Clara had become Miss Amedroz again; and though an offer to be driven out in the carriage was made to her every day, she was in general able to escape the infliction so that at last it came to be understood that Miss Amedroz did not like carriage exercise. She has never been used to it,' said Lady Aylmer to her daughter. 'I suppose not,' said Belinda; 'but if she wasn't so very cross she'd enjoy it just for that reason.' Clara sometimes walked about the grounds with Belinda, but on such occasions there was hardly anything that could be called conversation between them, and Frederic Aylmer's name was never mentioned.

Captain Aylmer had not been gone many days before she received a letter from her cousin, in which he spoke with absolute certainty of his intention of giving up the estate. He had, he said, consulted Mr Green, and the thing was to be done. 'But it will be better, I think,' he went on to say, 'that I should manage it for you till after your marriage. I simply mean what I say. You are not to suppose that I shall interfere in any way afterwards. Of course there will be a settlement, as to which I hope you will allow me to see Mr Green on your behalf.' In the first draught of his letter he had inserted a sentence in which he expressed a wish that the property should be so settled that it might at last all come to some one bearing the name of Belton. But as he read this over, the condition for coming from him it would be a condition seemed to him to be ungenerous, and he expunged it. 'What does it matter who has it,' he said to himself bitterly, 'or what he is called? I will never set eyes upon his children, nor yet upon the place when he has become the master of it.' Clara wrote both to her cousin and to the lawyer, repeating her assurance with great violence, as Lady Aylmer would have said that she would have nothing to with the Belton estate. She told Mr Green that it would be useless for him to draw up any deeds. 'It can't be made mine unless I choose to have it,' she said, 'and I don't choose to have it.' Then there came upon her a terrible fear. What if she should marry Captain Aylmer after all; and what if he, when he should be her husband, should take the property on her behalf! Something must be done before her marriage to prevent the possibility of such results something as to the efficacy of which for such prevention she could feel altogether certain.

But could she marry Captain Aylmer at all in her present mood? During these three weeks she was unconsciously teaching herself to hope that she might be relieved from her engagement. She did not love him. She was becoming aware that she did not love him. She was beginning to doubt whether, in truth, she had ever loved him. But yet she felt that she could not escape from her engagement if he should show himself to be really actuated by any fixed purpose to carry it out; nor could she bring herself to be so weak before Lady Aylmer as to seem to yield. The necessity of not striking her colours was forced upon her by the warfare to which she was subjected. She was unhappy, feeling that her present position in life was bad, and unworthy of her. She could have brought herself almost to run away from Aylmer Park, as a boy runs away from school, were it not that she had no place to which to run. She could not very well make her appearance at Plaistow Hall, and say that she had come there for shelter and succour. She could, indeed, go to Mrs Askerton's cottage for awhile; and the more she thought of the state of her affairs, the more did she feel sure that that would, before long, be her destiny. It must be her destiny unless Captain Aylmer should return at Easter with purposes so firmly fixed that even his mother should not be able to prevail against them.

And now, in these days, circumstances gave her a new friend or perhaps, rather, a new acquaintance, where she certainly had looked neither for the one or for the other. Lady Aylmer and Belinda and the carriage and the horses used, as I have said, to go off without her. This would take place soon after luncheon. Most of us know how the events of the day drag themselves on tediously in such a country house as Aylmer Park—a country house in which people neither read, nor flirt, nor gamble, nor smoke, nor have resort to the excitement of any special amusement. Lunch was on the table at half-past one, and the carriage was at the door at three. Eating and drinking and the putting on of bonnets occupied the hour and a half. From breakfast to lunch Lady Aylmer, with her old 'front', would occupy herself with her household accounts. For some days after Clara's arrival she put on her new 'front' before lunch; but of late since the long conversation in the carriage the new 'front' did not appear till she came down for the carriage. According to the theory of her life, she was never to be seen by any but her own family in her old 'front'. At breakfast she would appear with head so mysteriously enveloped with such a bewilderment of morning caps that old 'front' or new 'front' was all the same. When Sir Anthony perceived this change when he saw that Clara was treated as though she belonged to Aylmer Park then he told himself that his son's marriage with Miss Amedroz was to be; and, as Miss Amedroz seemed to him to be a very pleasant young woman, he would creep out of his own quarters when the carriage was gone and have a little chat with her being careful to creep away again before her ladyship's return. This was Clara's new friend.

'Have you heard from Fred since he has been gone?' the old man asked one day, when he had come upon Clara still seated in the parlour in which they had lunched. He had been out, at the front of the house, scolding the under-gardener; but the man had taken away his barrow and left him, and Sir Anthony had found himself without employment.

'Only a line to say that he is to be here on the sixteenth.'

'I don't think people write so many love-letters as they did when I was young,' said Sir Anthony.

'To judge from the novels, I should think not. The old novels used to be full of love-letters.'

'Fred was never good at writing, I think.'

'Members of Parliament have too much to do, I suppose,' said Clara.

'But he always writes when there is any business. He's a capital man of business. I wish I could say as much for his brother or for myself.'

'Lady Aylmer seems to like work of that sort.'

'So she does. She's fond of it I am not. I sometimes think that Fred takes after her. Where was it you first knew him?'

'At Perivale. We used, both of us, to be staying with Mrs Winterfield.'

'Yes, yes; of course. The most natural thing in life. Well, my dear, I can assure you that I am quite satisfied.'

'Thank you, Sir Anthony. I'm glad to hear you say even as much as that.'

'Of course money is very desirable for a man situated like Fred; but he'll have enough, and if he is pleased, I am. Personally, as regards yourself, I am more than pleased. I am indeed.'

'It's very good of you to say so.'

Sir Anthony looked at Clara, and his heart was softened towards her as he saw that there was a tear in her eye. A man's heart must be very hard when it does not become softened by the trouble of a woman with whom he finds himself alone. 'I don't know how you and Lady Aylmer get on together,' he said; 'but it will not be my fault if we are not friends.'

'I am afraid that Lady Aylmer does not like me,' said Clara.

'Indeed. I was afraid there was something of that. But you must remember she is hard to please. You'll find she'll come round in time.'

'She thinks that Captain Aylmer should not marry a woman without money.'

'That's all very well; but I don't see why Fred shouldn't please himself, He's old enough to know what he wants.'

'Is he, Sir Anthony? That's just the question. I'm not quite sure that he does know what he wants.'

'Fred doesn't know, do you mean?'

'I don't quite think he does, sir. And the worst of it is, I am in doubt as well as he.'

'In doubt about marrying him?'

'In doubt whether it will be good for him or for any of us. I don't like to come into a family that does not desire to have me.'

'You shouldn't think so much of Lady Aylmer as all that, my dear.'

'But I do think a great deal of her.'

'I shall be very glad to have you as a daughter-in-law. And as for Lady Aylmer between you and me, my dear, you shouldn't take every word she says so much to heart. She's the best woman in the world, and I'm sure I'm bound to say so. But she has her temper, you know; and I don't think you ought to give way to her altogether. There's the carriage. It won't do you any good if we're found together talking over it all; will it?' Then the baronet hobbled off, and Lady Aylmer, when she entered the room, found Clara sitting alone.

Whether it was that the wife was clever enough to extract from her husband something of the conversation that had passed between him and Clara, or whether she had some other source of information or whether her conduct might proceed from other grounds, we need not inquire; but from that afternoon Lady Aylmer's manner and words to Clara became much less courteous than they had been before. She would always speak as though some great iniquity was being committed, and went about the house with a portentous frown, as though some terrible measure must soon be taken with the object of putting an end to the present extremely improper state of things. All this was so manifest to Clara, that she said to Sir Anthony one day that she could no longer bear the look of Lady Aylmer's displeasure and that she would be forced to leave Aylmer Park before Frederic's return, unless the evil were mitigated. She had by this time told Sir Anthony that she much doubted whether the marriage would be possible, and that she really believed that it would be best for all parties that the idea should be abandoned. Sir Anthony, when he heard this, could only shake his head and hobble away. The trouble was too deep for him to cure.

But Clara still held on; and now there wanted but two days to Captain Aylmer's return, when, all suddenly, there arose a terrible storm at Aylmer Park, and then came a direct and positive quarrel between Lady Aylmer and Clara a quarrel direct and positive and, on the part of both ladies, very violent.

Nothing had hitherto been said at Aylmer Park about Mrs Askerton nothing, that is, since Clara's arrival. And Clara had been thankful for this silence. The letter which Captain Aylmer had written to her about Mrs Askerton will perhaps be remembered, and Clara's answer to that letter. The Aylmer Park opinion as to this poor woman, and as to Clara's future conduct towards the poor woman, had been expressed very strongly; and Clara had as strongly resolved that she would not be guided by Aylmer Park opinions in that matter. She had anticipated much that was disagreeable on this subject, and had therefore congratulated herself not a little on the absence of all allusion to it. But Lady Aylmer had, in truth, kept Mrs Askerton in reserve, as a battery to be used against Miss Amedroz if all other modes of attack should fail as a weapon which would be powerful when other weapons had been powerless. For a while she had thought it possible that Clara might be the owner of the Belton estate, and then it had been worth the careful mother's while to be prepared to accept a daughter-in-law so dowered. We have seen how the question of such ownership had enabled her to put forward the plea of poverty which she had used on her son's behalf. But since that, Frederic had declared his intention of marrying the young woman in spite of his poverty, and Clara seemed to be equally determined. 'He has been fool enough to speak the word, and she is determined to keep him to it,' said Lady Aylmer to her daughter. Therefore the Askerton battery was brought to bear not altogether unsuccessfully.

The three ladies were sitting together in the drawing-room, and had been as mute as fishes for half an hour. In these sittings they were generally very silent, speaking only in short little sentences. 'Will you drive with us today, Miss Amedroz?' 'Not today, I think, Lady Aylmer.' 'As you are reading, perhaps you won't mind our leaving you?' 'Pray do not put yourself to inconvenience for me, Miss Aylmer,' Such and such like was their conversation; but on a sudden, after a full half-hour's positive silence, Lady Aylmer asked a question altogether of another kind. 'I think, Miss Amedroz, my son wrote to you about a certain Mrs Askerton?'

Clara put down her work and sat for a moment almost astonished. It was not only that Lady Aylmer had asked so very disagreeable a question, but that she had asked it with so peculiar a voice a voice as it were a command, in a manner that was evidently intended to be taken as serious, and with a look of authority in her eye, as though she were resolved that this battery of hers should knock the enemy absolutely in the dust! Belinda gave a little spring in her chair, looked intently at her work, and went on stitching faster than before. 'Yes, he did,' said Clara, finding that an answer was imperatively demanded from her.

'It was quite necessary that he should write. I believe it to be an undoubted fact that Mrs Askerton is is is not at all what she ought to be.'

'Which of us is what we ought to be?' said Clara.

'Miss Amedroz, on this subject I am not at all inclined to joke. Is it not true that Mrs Askerton—'

'You must excuse me, Lady Aylmer, but what I know of Mrs Askerton, I know altogether in confidence; so that I cannot speak to you of her past life.'

'But, Miss Amedroz, pray excuse me if I say that I must speak of it. When I remember the position in which you do us the honour of being our visitor here, how can I help speaking of it?' Belinda was stitching very hard, and would not even raise her eyes. Clara, who still held her needle in her hand, resumed her work, and for a moment or two made no further answer. But Lady Aylmer had by no means completed her task. 'Miss Amedroz,' she said, 'you must allow me to judge for myself in this matter. The subject is one on which I feel myself obliged to speak to you.'

'But I have got nothing to say about it.'

'You have, I believe, admitted the truth of the allegations made by us as to this woman.' Clara was becoming very angry. A red spot showed itself on each cheek, and a frown settled upon her brow. She did not as yet know what she would say or how she would conduct herself. She was striving to consider how best she might assert her own independence. But she was fully determined that in this matter she would not bend an inch to Lady Aylmer. 'I believe we may take that as admitted?', said her ladyship.

'I am not aware that I have admitted anything to you, Lady Aylmer, or said anything that can justify you in questioning me on the subject.'

'Justify me in questioning a young woman who tells me that she is to be my future daughter-in-law!'

'I have not told you so. I have never told you anything of the kind.'

'Then on what footing, Miss Amedroz, do you do us the honour of being with us here at Aylmer Park?'

'On a very foolish footing.'

'On a foolish footing! What does that mean?'

'It means that I have been foolish in coming to a house in which I am subjected to such questioning.'

'Belinda, did you ever hear anything like this? Miss Amedroz, I must persevere, however much you may dislike it. The story of this woman's life whether she be Mrs Askerton or not, I don't know—'

'She is Mrs Askerton,' said Clara.

'As to that I do not profess to know, and I dare say that you are no wiser than myself. But what she has been we do know.' Here Lady Aylmer raised her voice and continued to speak with all the eloquence which assumed indignation could give her. 'What she has been we do know, and I ask you, as a duty which I own to my son, whether you have put an end to your acquaintance with so very disreputable a person a person whom even to have known is a disgrace?'

'I know her, and—'

'Stop one minute, if you please. My questions are these—Have you put an end to that acquaintance? Are you ready to give a promise that it shall never be resumed?

'I have not put an end to that acquaintance,—or rather that affectionate friendship as I should call it, and I am ready to promise that it shall be maintained with all my heart.'

'Belinda, do you hear her?'

'Yes, mamma.' And Belinda slowly shook her head, which was now bowed lower than ever over her lap.

'And that is your resolution?'

'Yes, Lady Aylmer; that is my resolution.'

'And you think that becoming to you, as a young woman?'

'Just so; I think that becoming to me as a young woman.'

'Then let me tell you, Miss Amedroz, that I differ from you altogether altogether.' Lady Aylmer, as she repeated the last word, raised her folded hands as though she were calling upon heaven to witness how thoroughly she differed from the young woman!

'I don't see how I am to help that, Lady Aylmer. I dare say we may differ on many subjects.'

'I dare say we do. I dare say we do. And I need not point out to you how very little that would be a matter of regret to me but for the hold you have upon my unfortunate son.'

'Hold upon him, Lady Aylmer! How dare you insult me by such language?' Hereupon Belinda again jumped in her chair; but Lady Aylmer looked as though she enjoyed the storm.

'You undoubtedly have a hold upon him, Miss Amedroz, and I think that it is a great misfortune. Of course, when he hears what your conduct is with reference to this person, he will release himself from his entanglement.'

'He can release himself from his entanglement whenever he chooses,' said Clara, rising from her chair. 'Indeed, he is released. I shall let Captain Aylmer know that our engagement must be at an end, unless he will promise that I shall never in future be subjected to the unwarrantable insolence of his mother.' Then she walked off to the door, not regarding, and indeed not hearing, the parting shot that was fired at her.

And now what was to be done! Clara went up to her own room, making herself strong and even comfortable, with an inward assurance that nothing should ever induce her even to sit down to table again with Lady Aylmer. She would not willingly enter the same room with Lady Aylmer, or have any speech with her. But what should she at once do? She could not very well leave Aylmer Park without settling whither she would go; nor could she in any way manage to leave the house on that afternoon. She almost resolved that she would go to Mrs Askerton. Everything was of course over between her and Captain Aylmer, and therefore there was no longer any hindrance to her doing so on that score. But what would be her Cousin Will's wish? He, now, was the only friend to whom she could trust for good counsel. What would be his advice? Should she write and ask him? No she could not do that. She could not bring herself to write to him, telling him that the Aylmer 'entanglement' was at an end. Were she to do so, he, with his temperament, would take such letter as meaning much more than it was intended to mean. But she would write a letter to Captain Aylmer. This she thought that she would do at once, and she began it.

She got as far as 'My dear Captain Aylmer,' and then she found that the letter was one which could not be written very easily. And she remembered, as the greatness of the difficulty of writing the letter became plain to her, that it could not now be sent so as to reach Captain Aylmer before he would leave London. If written at all, it must be addressed to him at Aylmer Park, and the task might be done tomorrow as well as today. So that task was given up for the present.

But she did write a letter to Mrs Askerton a letter which she would send or not on the morrow, according to the state of her mind as it might then be. In this she declared her purpose of leaving Aylmer Park on the day after Captain Aylmer's arrival, and asked to be taken in at the cottage. An answer was to be sent to her, addressed to the Great Northern Railway Hotel.

Richards, the maid, came up to her before dinner, with offers of assistance for dressing offers made in a tone which left no doubt on Clara's mind that Richards knew all about the quarrel. But Clara declined to be dressed, and sent down a message saying that she would remain in her room, and begging to be supplied with tea. She would not even condescend to say that she was troubled with a headache. Then Belinda came up to her, just before dinner was announced, and with a fluttered gravity advised Miss Amedroz to come down-stairs. 'Mamma thinks it will be much better that you should show yourself, let the final result be what it may.'

'But I have not the slightest desire to show myself.'

'There are the servants, you know.'

'But, Miss Aylmer, I don't care a straw for the servants really not a straw.'

'And papa will feel it so.'

'I shall be sorry if Sir Anthony is annoyed but I cannot help it. It has not been my doing.'

'And mamma says that my brother would of course wish it.'

'After what your mother has done, I don't see what his wishes would have to do with it,—even if she knew them,—which I don't think she does.'

'But if you will think of it, I'm sure you'll find it is the proper thing to do. There is nothing to be avoided so much as an open quarrel, that all the servants can see.'

'I must say, Miss Aylmer, that I disregard the servants. After what passed down-stairs, of course I have had to consider what I should do. Will you tell your mother that I will stay here, if she will permit it?'

'Of course. She will be delighted.'

'I will remain, if she will permit it, till the morning after Captain Aylmer's arrival. Then I shall go.'

'Where to, Miss Amedroz?'

'I have already written to a friend, asking her to receive me.'

Miss Aylmer paused a moment before she asked her next question but she did ask it, showing by her tone and manner that she had been driven to summon up all her courage to enable her to do so. 'To what friend, Miss Amedroz? Mamma will be glad to know.'

'That is a question which Lady Aylmer can have no right to ask,' said Clara.

'Oh very well. Of course, if you don't like to tell, there's no more to be said.'

'I do not like to tell, Miss Aylmer.'

Clara had her tea in her room that evening, and lived there the whole of the next day. The family down-stairs was not comfortable. Sir Anthony could not be made to understand why his guest kept her room,—which was not odd, as Lady Aylmer was very sparing in the information she gave him; and Belinda found it to be impossible to sit at table, or to say a few words to her father and mother, without showing at every moment her consciousness that a crisis had occurred. By the next day's post the letter to Mrs Askerton was sent, and at the appointed time Captain Aylmer arrived. About an hour after he entered the house, Belinda went up-stairs with a message from him;—would Miss Amedroz see him? Miss Amedroz would see him, but made it a condition of doing so that she should not be required to meet Lady Aylmer. She need not be afraid,' said Lady Aylmer. 'Unless she sends me a full apology, with a promise that she will have no further intercourse whatever with that woman, I will never willingly see her again.' A meeting was therefore arranged between Captain Aylmer and Miss Amedroz in a sitting-room upstairs.

'What is all this, Clara?' said Captain Aylmer, at once.

'Simply this that your mother has insulted me most wantonly.'

'She says that it is you who have been uncourteous to her.'

'Be it so you can of course believe whichever you please, and it is desirable, no doubt, that you should prefer to believe your mother.'

'But I do not wish there to be any quarrel.'

'But there is a quarrel, Captain Aylmer, and I must leave your father's house. I cannot stay here after what has taken place. Your mother told me I cannot tell you what she told me, but she made against me just those accusations which she knew it would be the hardest for me to bear.'

'I'm sure you have mistaken her.'

'No; I have not mistaken her.'

'And where do you propose to go?'

'To Mrs Askerton.'

'Oh, Clara!'

'I have written to Mrs Askerton to ask her to receive me for awhile. Indeed, I may almost say that I had no other choice.'

'If you go there, Clara, there will be an end to everything.'

'And there must be an end of what you call everything, Captain Aylmer,' said she, smiling. 'It cannot be for your good to bring into your family a wife of whom your mother would think so badly as she thinks of me.'

There was a great deal said, and Captain Aylmer walked very often up and down the room, endeavouring to make some arrangement which might seem in some sort to appease his mother. Would Clara only allow a telegram to be sent to Mrs Askerton, to explain that she had changed her mind? But Clara would allow no such telegram to be sent, and on that evening she packed up all her things. Captain Aylmer saw her again and again, sending Belinda backwards and forwards, and making different appointments up to midnight; but it was all to no purpose, and on the next morning she took her departure alone in the Aylmer Park carriage for the railway station. Captain Aylmer had proposed to go with her; but she had so stoutly declined his company that he was obliged to abandon his intention. She saw neither of the ladies on that morning, but Sir Anthony came out to say a word of farewell to her in the hall. 'I am very sorry for all this,' said he. 'It is a pity,' said Clara, 'but it cannot be helped. Good-bye, Sir Anthony.' 'I hope we may meet again under pleasanter circumstances,' said the baronet. To this Clara made no reply, and was then handed into the carriage by Captain Aylmer.

'I am so bewildered,' said he, 'that I cannot now say anything definite, but I shall write to you, and probably follow you.'

'Do not follow me, pray, Captain Aylmer,' said she, Then she was driven to the station; and as she passed through the lodges of the park entrance she took what she intended to be a final farewell of Aylmer Park.



CHAPTER XXVII

ONCE MORE BACK TO BELTON

When the carriage was driven away, Sir Anthony and Captain Aylmer were left standing alone at the ball door of the house. The servants had slunk off, and the father and son, looking at each other, felt that they also must slink away, or else have some words together on the subject of their guest's departure. The younger gentleman would have preferred that there should be no words, but Sir Anthony was curious to know something of what had passed in the house during the last few days. 'I'm afraid things are not going quite comfortable,' he said.

'It seems to me, sir,' said his son, 'that things very seldom do go quite comfortable.'

'But, Fred what is it all about? Your mother says that Miss Amedroz is behaving very badly.'

'And Miss Amedroz says that my mother is behaving very badly.'

'Of course that's only natural. And what do you say?'

'I say nothing, sir. The less said the soonest mended.'

'That's all very well; but it seems to me that you, in your position, must say something. The long and the short of it is this. Is she to be your wife?'

'Upon my word, sir, I don't know.'

They were still standing out under the portico, and as Sir Anthony did not for a minute or two ask any further questions, Captain Aylmer turned as though he were going into the house. But his father had still a word or two to say. Stop a moment, Fred. I don't often trouble you with advice.'

'I'm sure I'm always glad to hear it when you offer any.'

'I know very well that in most things your opinion is better than mine. You've had advantages which I never had. But I've had more experience than you, my dear boy. It stands to reason that in some things I must have had more experience than you.' There was a tone of melancholy in the father's voice as he said this which quite touched his son, and which brought the two closer together out in the porch. 'Take my word for it,' continued Sir Anthony, 'that you are much better off as you are than you could be with a wife.'

'Do you mean to say that no man should marry?'

'No I don't mean to say that. An eldest son ought to marry, so that the property may have an heir. And poor men should marry, I suppose, as they want wives to do for them. And sometimes, no doubt, a man must marry when he has got to be very fond of a girl, and has compromised himself, and all that kind of thing. I would never advise any man to sully his honour.' As Sir Anthony said this he raised himself a little with his two sticks and spoke out in a bolder voice. The voice however, sank again as he descended from the realms of honour to those of prudence. 'But none of these cases are yours, Fred. To be sure you'll have the Perivale property; but that is not a family estate, and you'll be much better off by turning it into money. And in the way of comfort, you can be a great deal more comfortable without a wife than you can with one. What do you want a wife for? And then, as to Miss Amedroz,—for myself I must say that I like her uncommonly. She has been very pleasant in her ways with me. But somehow or another, I don't think you are so much in love with her but what you can do without her.' Hereupon he paused and looked his son full in the face. Fred had also been thinking of the matter in his own way, and asking himself the same question,—whether he was in truth so much in love with Clara that he could not live without her. 'Of course I don't know,' continued Sir Anthony, 'what has taken place just now between you and her, or what between her and your mother; but I suppose the whole thing might fall through without any further trouble to you,—or without anything unhandsome on your part?' But Captain Aylmer still said nothing. The whole thing might, no doubt, fall through, but he wished to be neither unjust nor ungenerous,—and he specially wished to avoid anything unhandsome. After a further pause of a few minutes, Sir Anthony went on again, pouring forth the words of experience. 'Of course marriage is all very well. I married rather early in life, and have always found your mother to be a most excellent woman. A better woman doesn't breathe. I'm as sure of that as I am of anything. But God bless me of course you can see. I can't call anything my own. I'm tied down here and I can't move. I've never got a shilling to spend, while all these lazy hounds about the place are eating me up. There isn't a clerk with a hundred a year in London that isn't better off than I am as regards ready money. And what comfort have I in a big house, and no end of gardens, and a place like this? What pleasures do I get out of it? That comes of marrying and keeping up one's name in the county respectably! What do I care for the county? D—— the county! I often wish that I'd been a younger son as you are.'

Captain Aylmer had no answer to make to all this. It was, no doubt, the fact that age and good living had made Sir Anthony altogether incapable of enjoying the kind of life which he desiderated, and that he would probably have eaten and drunk himself into his grave long since had that kind of life been within his reach. This, however, the son could not explain to the father. But in fitting, as he endeavoured to do, his father's words to his own case, Captain Aylmer did perceive that a bachelor's life might perhaps be the most suitable to his own peculiar case. Only he would do nothing unhandsome. As to that he was quite resolved. Of course Clara must show herself to be in some degree amenable to reason and to the ordinary rules of the world; but he was aware that his mother was hot-tempered, and he generously made up his mind that he would give Miss Amedroz even yet another chance.

At the hotel in London Clara found a short note from Mrs Askerton, in which she was warmly assured that everything should be done to make her comfortable at the cottage as long as she should wish to stay there. But the very warmth of affection thus expressed made her almost shrink from what she was about to do. Mrs Askerton was no doubt anxious for her coming; but would her Cousin Will Belton approve of the visit; and what would her Cousin Mary say about it? If she was being driven into this step against her own approval, by the insolence of Lady Aylmer if she was doing this thing simply because Lady Aylmer had desired her not to do it, and was doing it in opposition to the wishes of the man she had promised to marry as well as to her own judgment, there could not but be cause for shrinking. And yet she believed that she was right. If she could only have had some one to tell her some one in whom she could trust implicitly to direct her! She had hitherto been very much prone to rebel against authority. Against her aunt she had rebelled, and against her father, and against her lover. But now she wished with all her heart that there might be some one to whom she could submit with perfect faith. If she could only know what her Cousin Will would think. In him she thought she could have trusted with that perfect faith if only he would have been a brother to her.

But it was too late now for doubting, and on the next day she found herself getting out of the old Redicote fly, at Colonel Askerton's door. He came out to meet her, and his greeting was very friendly. Hitherto there had been no great intimacy between him and her, owing rather to the manner of life adopted by him than to any cause of mutual dislike between them. Mrs Askerton had shown herself desirous of some social intercourse since she had been at Belton, but with Colonel Askerton there had been nothing of this. He had come there intending to live alone, and had been satisfied to carry out his purpose. But now Clara had come to his house as a guest, and he assumed towards her altogether a new manner. 'We are so glad to have you,' he said, taking both her hands. Then she passed on into the cottage, and in a minute was in her friend's arms.

'Dear Clara;—dearest Clara, I am so glad to have you here.'

'It is very good of you.'

'No, dear; the goodness is with you to come. But we won't quarrel about that. We will both be ever so good. And he is so happy that you should be here. You'll get to know him now. But come up-stairs. There's a fire in your room, and I'll be your maid for the occasion,—because then we can talk.' Clara did as she was bid and went up-stairs; and as she sat over the fire while her friend knelt beside her,—for Mrs Askerton was given to such kneelings,—she could not but tell herself that Belton Cottage was much more comfortable than Aylmer Park. During the whole time of her sojourn at Aylmer Park no word of real friendship had once greeted her ears. Everything there had been cold and formal, till coldness and formality had given way to violent insolence.

'And so you have quarrelled with her ladyship,' said Mrs Askerton. 'I knew you would.'

'I have not said anything about quarrelling with her.'

'But of course you have. Come, now; don't make yourself disagreeable. You have had a downright battle have you not?'

'Something very like it, I'm afraid.'

'I am so glad,' said Mrs Askerton, rubbing her hands.

'That is ill-natured.'

'Very well. Let it be ill-natured. One isn't to be good-natured all round, or what would be the use of it? And what sort of a woman is she?'

'Oh dear; I couldn't describe her. She is very large, and wears a great wig, and manages everything herself, and I've no doubt she's a very good woman in her own way.'

'I can see her at once and a very pillar of virtue as regards morality and going to church. Poor me! Does she know that you have come here?'

'I have no doubt she does. I did not tell her, nor would I tell her daughter; but I told Captain Aylmer.'

'That was right. That was very right. I'm so glad of that. But who would doubt that you would show a proper spirit? And what did he say?'

'Not much, indeed.'

'I won't trouble you about him. I don't in the least doubt but all that will come right. And what sort of man is Sir Anthony?'

'A common-place sort of a man; very gouty, and with none of his wife's strength. I liked him the best of them all.'

'Because you saw the least of him, I suppose.'

'He was kind in his manner to me.'

'And they were like she-dragons. I understand it all, and can see them just as though I had been there. I felt that I knew what would come of it when you first told me that you were going to Aylmer Park, I did, indeed. I could have prophesied it all.'

'What a pity you did not.'

'It would have done no good and your going there has done good. It has opened your eyes to more than one thing, I don't doubt. But tell me have you told them in Norfolk that you were coming here?'

'No I have not written to my cousin.'

'Don't be angry with me if I tell you something. I have.'

'Have what?'

'I have told Mr Belton that you were coming here. It was in this way. I had to write to him about our continuing in the cottage. Colonel Askerton always makes me write if it's possible, and of course we were obliged to settle something as to the place.'

'I'm sorry you said anything about me.'

'How could I help it? What would you have thought of me, or what would he have thought, if, when writing to him, I had not mentioned such a thing as your visit? Besides, it's much better that he should know.'

'I am sorry that you said anything about it.'

'You are ashamed that he should know that you are here,' said Mrs Askerton, in a tone of reproach.

'Ashamed! No; I am not ashamed. But I would sooner that he had not been told as yet. Of course he would have been told before long.'

'But you are not angry with me?'

'Angry! How can I be angry with any one who is so kind to me?'

That evening passed by very pleasantly, and when she went again to her own room, Clara was almost surprised to find how completely she was at home. On the next day she and Mrs Askerton together went up to the house, and roamed through all the rooms, and Clara seated herself in all the accustomed chairs. On the sofa, just in the spot to which Belton had thrown it, she found the key of the cellar. She took it up in her band, thinking that she would give it to the servant; but again she put it back upon the sofa. It was his key, and he had left it there, and if ever there came an occasion she would remind him where he had put it. Then they went out to the cow, who was at her ease in a little home paddock.

'Dear Bessy,' said Clara, 'see how well she knows me.' But I think the tame little beast would have known any one else as well who had gone up to her as Clara did, with food in her hand. 'She is quite as sacred as any cow that ever was worshipped among the cow-worshippers,' said Mrs Askerton. I suppose they milk her and sell the butter, but otherwise she is not regarded as an ordinary cow at all.' 'Poor Bessy,' said Clara. 'I wish she had never come here. What is to be done with her?' 'Done with her! She'll stay here till she dies a natural death, and then a romantic pair of mourners will follow her to her grave, mixing their sympathetic tears comfortably as they talk of the old days; and in future years, Bessy will grow to be a divinity of the past, never to be mentioned without tenderest reminiscences. I have not the slightest difficulty in prophesying as to Bessy's future life and posthumous honours.' They roamed about the place the whole morning, through the garden and round the farm buildings, and in and out of the house; and at every turn something was said about Will Belton. But Clara would not go up to the rocks, although Mrs Askerton more than once attempted to turn in that direction. He had said that he never would go there again except under certain circumstances. She knew that those circumstances would never come to pass; but yet neither would she go there. She would never go there till her cousin was married. Then, if in those days she should ever be present at Belton Castle, she would creep up to the spot all alone, and allow herself to think of the old days.

On the following morning there came to her a letter bearing the Downham post-mark but at the first glance she knew that it was not from her Cousin Will. Will wrote with a bold round hand, that was extremely plain and caligraphic when he allowed himself time for the work in hand, as he did with the commencement of his epistles, but which would become confused and altogether anti-caligraphic when he fell into a hurry towards the end of his performance as was his wont. But the address of this letter was written in a pretty, small, female hand,—very careful in the perfection of every letter, and very neat in every stroke. It was from Mary Briton, between whom and Clara there had never hitherto been occasion for correspondence. The letter was as follows:—

'Plaistow Hall, April, 186—.

'My Dear Cousin Clara,

'William has heard from your friends at Belton, who are tenants on the estate, and as to whom there seems to be some question whether they are to remain. He has written, saying, I believe, that there need be no difficulty if they wish to stay there. But we learn, also, from Mrs Askerton's letter, that you are expected at the cottage, and therefore I will address this to Belton, supposing that it may find you there.

'You and I have never yet known each other which has been a grief to me; but this grief, I hope, may be cured some day before long. I myself, as you know, am such a poor creature that I cannot go about the world to see my friends as other people do at least, not very well; and therefore I write to you with the object of asking you to come and see me here. This is an interesting old house in its way; and though I must not conceal from you that life here is very, very quiet, I would do my best to make the days pass pleasantly with you. I had heard that you were gone to Aylmer Park. Indeed, William told me of his taking you up to London. Now it seems you have left Yorkshire, and I suppose you will not return there very soon. If it be so, will it not be well that you should come to me for a short time?

'Both William and I feel that just for the present for a little time you would perhaps prefer to be alone with me. He must go to London for awhile, and then on to Belton, to settle your affairs and his. He intends to be absent for six weeks. If you would not be afraid of the dullness of this house for so long a time, pray come to us. The pleasure to me would be very great, and I hope that you have some of that feeling, which with me is so strong, that we ought not to be any longer personally strangers to each other. You could then make up your mind as to what you would choose to do afterwards. I think that by the end of that time that is, when William returns my uncle and aunt from Sleaford will be with us. He is a clergyman, you know; and if you then like to remain, they will be delighted to make your acquaintance.

'It seems to be a long journey for a young lady to make alone, from Belton to Plaistow; but travelling is so easy now-a-days, and young ladies seem to be so independent, that you may be able to manage it. Hoping to see you soon, I remain

'Your affectionate Cousin,

'MARY BELTON.'

This letter she received before breakfast, and was therefore able to read it in solitude, and to keep its receipt from the knowledge of Mrs Askerton, if she should be so minded. She understood at once all that it intended to convey a hint that Plaistow Hall would be a better resting place for her than Mrs Askerton's cottage; and an assurance that if she would go to Plaistow Hall for her convenience, no advantage should be taken of her presence there by the owner of the house for his convenience. As she sat thinking of the offer which had been made to her she fancied that she could see and hear her Cousin Will as he discussed the matter with his sister, and with a half assumption of surliness declared his own intention of going away. Captain Aylmer, after that interview in London, had spoken of Belton's conduct as being unpardonable; but Clara had not only pardoned him, but had, in her own mind, pronounced his virtues to be so much greater than his vices as to make him almost perfect. 'But I will not drive him out of his own house,' she said. 'What does it matter where I go?'

'Colonel Askerton has had a letter from your cousin,' said Mrs Askerton as soon as the two ladies were alone together.

'And what does he say?'

'Not a word about you.'

'So much the better. I have given him trouble enough, and am glad to think that he should be free of me for awhile. Is Colonel Askerton to stay at the cottage?'

'Now, Clara, you are a hypocrite. You know that you are a hypocrite.'

'Very likely but I don't know why you should accuse me just now.'

'Yes, you do. Have not you heard from Norfolk also?'

'Yes;—I have.'

'I was sure of it. I knew he would never have written in that way, in answer to my letter, ignoring your visit here altogether, unless he had written to you also.'

'But he has not written to me. My letter is from his sister. There it is.' Whereupon she handed the letter to Mrs Askerton, and waited patiently while it was being read. Her friend returned it to her without a word, and Clara was the first to speak again. 'It is a nice letter, is it not? I never saw her, you know.'

'So she says.'

'But is it not a kind letter?'

'I suppose it is meant for kindness. It is not very complimentary to me. It presumes that such a one as I may be treated without the slightest consideration. And so I may. It is only fit that I should be so treated. If you ask my advice, I advise you to go at once at once.'

'But I have not asked your advice, dear; nor do I intend to ask it.'

'You would not have shown it me if you had not intended to go.'

'How unreasonable you are! You told me just now that I was a hypocrite for not telling you of my letter, and now you are angry with me because I have shown it you.'

'I am not angry. I think you have been quite right to show it me. I don't know how else you could have acted upon it.'

'But I do not mean to act upon it. I shall not go to Plaistow. There are two reasons against it, each sufficient. I shall not leave you just yet unless you send me away; and I shall not cause my cousin to be turned out of his own house.'

'Why should he be turned out? Why should you not go to him? You love him and as for him, he is more in love than any man I ever knew. Go to Plaistow Hall, and everything will run smooth.'

'No, dear; I shall not do that.'

'Then you are foolish. I am bound to tell you so, as I have inveigled you here.'

'I thought I had invited myself.'

'No; I asked you to come, and when I asked you I knew that I was wrong. Though I meant to be kind, I knew that I was unkind. I saw that my husband disapproved it, though he had not the heart to tell me so. I wish he had. I wish he had.'

'Mrs Askerton, I cannot tell you how much you wrong yourself, and how you wrong me also. I am more than contented to be here.'

'But you should not be contented to be here. It is just that. In learning to love me or rather, perhaps, to pity me, you lower yourself. Do you think that I do not see it all, and know it all? Of course it is bad to be alone, but I have no right not to be alone.' There was nothing for Clara to do but to draw herself once again close to the poor woman, and to embrace her with protestations of fair, honest, equal regard and friendship. 'Do you think I do not understand that letter?' continued Mrs Askerton. 'If it had come from Lady Aylmer I could have laughed at it, because I believe Lady Aylmer to be an overbearing virago, whom it is good to put down in every way possible. But this comes from a pure-minded woman, one whom I believe to be little given to harsh judgments on her fellow-sinners; and she tells you, in her calm wise way, that it is bad for you to be here with me.'

'She says nothing of the kind.'

'But does she not mean it? Tell me honestly do you not know that she means it?'

'I am not to be guided by what she means.'

'But you are to be guided by what her brother means. It is to come to that, and you may as well bend your neck at once. It is to come to that, and the sooner the better for you. It is easy to see that you are badly off for guidance when you take up me as your friend.' When she had so spoken Mrs Askerton got up and went to the door. 'No, Clara, do not come with me; not now,' she said, turning to her companion, who had risen as though to follow her. 'I will come to you soon, but I would rather be alone now. And, look here, dear; you must answer your cousin's letter. Do so at once, and say that you will go to Plaistow. In any event it will be better for you.'

Clara, when she was alone, did answer her cousin's letter, but she did not accept the invitation that had been given her. She assured Miss Belton that she was most anxious to know her, and hoped that she might do so before long, either at Plaistow or at Belton; but that at present she was under an engagement to stay with her friend Mrs Askerton. In an hour or two Mrs Askerton returned, and Clara handed to her the note to read. 'Then all I can say is you are very silly, and don't know on which side your bread is buttered.' It was evident from Mrs Askerton's voice that she had recovered her mood and tone of mind. 'I don't suppose it will much signify, as it will all come right at last,' she said afterwards. And then, after luncheon, when she had been for a few minutes with her husband in his own room, she told Clara that the colonel wanted to speak to her. 'You'll find him as grave as a judge, for he has got something to say to you in earnest. Nobody can be so stern as he is when he chooses to put on his wig and gown.' So Clara went into the colonel's study, and seated herself in a chair which he had prepared for her.

She remained there for over an hour, and during the hour the conversation became very animated. Colonel Askerton's assumed gravity had given way to ordinary eagerness, during which he walked about the room in the vehemence of his argument; and Clara, in answering him, had also put forth all her strength. She had expected that he also was going to speak to her on the propriety of her going to Norfolk; but he made no allusion to that subject, although all that he did say was founded on Will Belton's letter to himself. Belton, in speaking of the cottage, had told Colonel Askerton that Miss Amedroz would be his future landlord, and had then gone on to explain that it was his, Belton's, intention to destroy the entail, and allow the property to descend from the father to the daughter. 'As Miss Amedroz is with you now,' he said, 'may I beg you to take the trouble to explain the matter to her at length, and to make her understand that the estate is now, at this moment, in fact her own. Her possession of it does not depend on any act of hers or, indeed, upon her own will or wish in the matter.' On this subject Colonel Askerton had argued, using all his skill to make Clara in truth perceive that she was her father's heiress through the generosity undoubtedly of her cousin and that she had no alternative but to assume the possession which was thus thrust upon her.

And so eloquent was the colonel that Clara was staggered, though she was not convinced. 'It is quite impossible,' she said. 'Though he may be able to make it over to me, I can give it back again.'

'I think not. In such a matter as this a lady in your position can only be guided by her natural advisers her father's lawyer and other family friends.'

'I don't know why a young lady should be in any way different from an old gentleman.'

'But an old gentleman would not hesitate under such circumstances. The entail in itself was a cruelty, and the operation of it on your poor brother's death was additionally cruel.'

'It is cruel that any one should be poor,' argued Clara; 'but that does not take away the right of a rich man to his property.'

There was much more of this sort said between them, till Clara was at any rate convinced that Colonel Askerton believed that she ought to be the owner of the property. And then at last he ventured upon another argument which soon drove Clara out of the room. 'There is, I believe, one way in which it can all be made right,' said he.

'What way? 'said Clara, forgetting in her eagerness the obviousness of the mode which her companion was about to point out.

'Of course, I know nothing of this myself,' he said smiling; 'but Mary thinks that you and your cousin might arrange it between you if you were together.'

'You must not listen to what she says about that, Colonel Askerton.' 'Must I not? Well; I will not listen to more than I can help; but Mary, as you know, is a persistent talker. I, at any rate, have done my commission.' Then Clara left him and was alone for what remained of the afternoon.

It could not be, she said to herself, that the property ought to be hers. It would make her miserable, were she once to feel that she had accepted it. Some small allowance out of it, coming to her from the brotherly love of her cousin some moderate stipend sufficient for her livelihood, she thought she could accept from him. It seemed to her that it was her destiny to be dependent on charity to eat bread given to her from the benevolence of a friend; and she thought that she could endure his benevolence better than that of any other. Benevolence from Aylmer Park or from Perivale would be altogether unendurable.

But why should it not be as Colonel Askerton had proposed? That this cousin of hers loved her with all his heart with a constancy for which she had at first given him no credit she was well aware. And, as regarded herself, she loved him better than all the world beside. She had at last become conscious that she could not now marry Captain Aylmer without sin without false vows, and fatal injury to herself and him. To the prospect of that marriage, as her future fate, an end must be put at any rate an end, if that which had already taken place was not to be regarded as end enough. But yet she had been engaged to Captain Aylmer was engaged to him even now. When last her cousin had mentioned to her Captain Aylmer's name she had declared that she loved him still. How then could she turn round now, and so soon accept the love of another man? How could she bring herself to let her cousin assume to himself the place of a lover, when it was but the other day that she had rebuked him for expressing the faintest hope in that direction?

But yet,—yet—! As for going to Plaistow, that was quite out of the question.

'So you are to be the heiress after all,' said Mrs Askerton to her that night in her bedroom.

'No; I am not to be the heiress after all,' said Clara, rising against her friend impetuously.

'You'll have to be lady of Belton in one way or the other at any rate,' said Mrs Askerton.



CHAPTER XXVIII

MISS AMEDROZ IS PURSUED

'I suppose now, my dear, it may be considered that everything is settled about that young lady,' said Lady Aylmer to her son, on the same day that Miss Amedroz left Aylmer Park.

'Nothing is settled, ma'am,' said the captain.

'You don't mean to tell me that after what has passed you intend to follow her up any farther.'

'I shall certainly endeavour to see her again.'

'Then, Frederic, I must tell you that you are very wrong indeed almost worse than wrong. I would say wicked, only I feel sure that you will think better of it. You cannot mean to tell me that you would marry her after what has taken place?'

'The question is whether she would marry me.'

'That is nonsense, Frederic. I wonder that you, who are so generally so clear-sighted, cannot see more plainly than that. She is a scheming, artful young woman, who is playing a regular game to catch a husband.'

'If that were so, she would have been more humble to you, ma'am.'

'Not a bit, Fred. That's just it. That has been her cleverness. She tried that on at first, and found that she could not get round me. Don't allow yourself to be deceived by that, I pray. And then there is no knowing how she may be bound up with those horrid people, so that she cannot throw them over, even if she would.'

'I don't think you understand her, ma'am.'

'Oh very well. But I understand this, and you had better understand it too that she will never again enter a house of which I am the mistress; nor can I ever enter a house in which she is received. If you choose to make her your wife after that, I have done.' Lady Aylmer had not done, or nearly done; but we need hear no more of her threats or entreaties. Her son left Aylmer Park immediately after Easter Sunday, and as he went, the mother, nodding her head, declared to her daughter that that marriage would never come off, let Clara Amedroz be ever so sly, or ever so clever.

'Think of what I have said to you, Fred,' said Sir Anthony, as he took his leave of his son.

'Yes, sir, I will.'

'You can't be better off than you are;—you can't, indeed.' With these words in his ears Captain Aylmer started for London, intending to follow Clara down to Belton. He hardly knew his own mind on this matter of his purposed marriage. He was almost inclined to agree with his father that he was very well off as he was. He was almost inclined to agree with his mother in her condemnation of Clara's conduct. He was almost inclined to think that he had done enough towards keeping the promise made to his aunt on her deathbed,—but still he was not quite contented with himself. He desired to be honest and true, as far as his ideas went of honesty and truth, and his conscience told him that Clara had been treated with cruelty by his mother. I am inclined to think that Lady Aylmer, in spite of her high experience and character for wisdom, had not fought her battle altogether well. No man likes to be talked out of his marriage by his mother, and especially not so when the talking takes the shape of threats. When she told him that under no circumstances would she again know Clara Amedroz, he was driven by his spirit of manhood to declare to himself that that menace from her should not have the slightest influence on him. The word or two which his father said was more effective. After all it might be better for him in his peculiar position to have no wife at all. He did begin to believe that he had no need for a wife. He had never before thought so much of his father's example as he did now. Clara was manifestly a hot-tempered woman,—a very hot-tempered woman indeed! Now his mother was also a hot-tempered woman, and he could see the result in the present condition of his father's life. He resolved that he would follow Clara to Belton, so that some final settlement might be made between them; but in coming to this resolution he acknowledged to himself that should she decide against him he would not break his heart. She, however, should have her chance. Undoubtedly it was only right that she should have her chance.

But the difficulty of the circumstances in which he was placed was so great, that it was almost impossible for him to make up his mind fixedly to any purpose in reference to Clara. As he passed through London on his way to Belton he called at Mr Green's chambers with reference to that sum of fifteen hundred pounds, which it was now absolutely necessary that he should make over to Miss Amedroz, and from Mr Green he learned that William Belton had given positive instructions as to the destination of the Belton estate. He would not inherit it, or have anything to do with it under the entail from the effects of which he desired to be made entirely free. Mr Green, who knew that Captain Aylmer was engaged to marry his client, and who knew nothing of any interruption to that agreement, felt no hesitation in explaining all this to Captain Aylmer. 'I suppose you had heard of it before,' said Mr Green. Captain Aylmer certainly had heard of it, and had been very much struck by the idea; but up to this moment he had not quite believed in it. Coming simply from William Belton to Clara Amedroz, such an offer might be no more than a strong argument used in love-making. 'Take back the property, but take me with it, of course.' That Captain Aylmer thought might have been the correct translation of Mr William Belton's romance. But he was forced to look at the matter differently when he found that it had been put into a lawyer's hands. 'Yes,' said he,' I have heard of it. Mr Belton mentioned it to me himself.' This was not strictly true. Clara had mentioned it to him; but Belton had come into the room immediately afterwards, and Captain Aylmer might probably have been mistaken.

'He's quite in earnest,' said Mr Green.

'Of course, I can say nothing, Mr Green, as I am myself so nearly interested in the matter. It is a great question, no doubt, how far such an entail as that should be allowed to operate.'

'I think it should stand, as a matter of course. I think Belton is wrong,' said Mr Green.

'Of course I can give no opinion,' said the other.

'I'll tell you what you can do, Captain Aylmer. You can suggest to Miss Amedroz that there should be a compromise. Let them divide it. They are both clients of mine, and in that way I shall do my duty to each. Let them divide it. Belton has money enough to buy up the other moiety, and in that way would still be Belton of Belton.'

Captain Aylmer had not the slightest objection to such a plan. Indeed, he regarded it as in all respects a wise and salutary arrangement. The moiety of the Belton estate might probably be worth twenty-five thousand pounds, and the addition of such a sum as that to his existing means would make all the difference in the world as to the expediency of his marriage. His father's arguments would all fall to the ground if twenty-five thousand pounds were to be obtained in this way; and he had but little doubt that such a change in affairs would go far to mitigate his mother's wrath. But he was by no means mercenary in his views so, at least, he assured himself. Clara should have her chance with or without the Belton estate or with or without the half of it. He was by no means mercenary. Had he not made his offer to her and repeated it almost with obstinacy, when she had no prospect of any fortune? He could always remember that of himself at least; and remembering that now, he could take a delight in these bright money prospects without having to accuse himself in the slightest degree of mercenary motives. This fortune was a godsend which he could take with clean hands if only he should ultimately be able to take the lady who possessed the fortune!

From London he wrote to Clara, telling her that he proposed to visit her at Belton. His letter was written before he had seen Mr Green, and was not very fervent in its expressions; but, nevertheless, it was a fair letter, written with the intention of giving her a fair chance. He had seen with great sorrow 'with heartfelt grief,' that quarrel between his mother and his own Clara. Thinking, as he felt himself obliged to think, about Mrs Askerton, he could not but feel that his mother bad cause for her anger. But he himself was unprejudiced, and was ready, and anxious also the word anxious was underscored to carry out his engagement. A few words between them might probably set everything right, and therefore be proposed to meet her at the Belton Castle house, at such an hour, on such a day. He should run down to Perivale on his journey, and perhaps Clara would let him have a line addressed to him there. Such was his letter.

'What do you think of that?' said Clara, showing it to Mrs Askerton on the afternoon of the day on which she had received it.

'What do you think of it?' said Mrs Askerton. 'I can only hope, that he will not come within reach of my hands.'

'You are not angry with me for showing it to you?'

'No why should I be angry with you? Of course I knew it all without any showing. Do not tell Colonel Askerton, or they will be killing each other.'

'Of course I shall not tell Colonel Askerton; but I could not help showing this to you.'

'And you will meet him?'

'Yes; I shall meet him. What else can I do?'

'Unless, indeed, you were to write and tell him that it would do no good.'

'It will be better that he should come.'

'If you allow him to talk you over you will be a wretched woman all your life.'

'It will be better that he should come,' said Clara again. And then she wrote to Captain Aylmer at Perivale, telling him that she would be at the house at the hour he had named, on the day he had named.

When that day came she walked across the park a little before the time fixed, not wishing to meet Captain Aylmer before she had reached the house. It was now nearly the middle of April, and the weather was soft and pleasant. It was almost summer again, and as she felt this, she thought of all the events which had occurred since the last summer of their agony of grief at the catastrophe which had closed her brother's life, of her aunt's death first, and then of her father's following so close upon the other, and of the two offers of marriage made to her as to which she was now aware that she had accepted the wrong man and rejected the wrong man. She was steadily minded, now, at this moment, that before she parted from Captain Aylmer, her engagement with him should be brought to a close. Now, at this coming interview, so much at any rate should be done. She had tried to make herself believe that she felt for him that sort of affection which a woman should have for the man she is to marry, but she had failed. She hardly knew whether she had in truth ever loved him; but she was quite sure that she did not love him now. No she had done with Aylmer Park, and she could feel thankful, amidst all her troubles, that that difficulty should vex her no more. In showing Captain Aylmer's letter to Mrs Askerton she had made no such promise as this, but her mind had been quite made up. 'He certainly shall not talk me over,' she said to herself as she walked across the park.

But she could not see her way so clearly out of that further difficulty with regard to her cousin. It might be that she would be able to rid herself of the one lover with comparative ease; but she could not bring herself to entertain the idea of accepting the other. It was true that this man longed for her,—desired to call her his own, with a wearing, anxious, painful desire which made his heart grievously heavy as though with lead hanging to its strings; and it was true that Clara knew that it was so. It was true also that his spirit had mastered her spirit, and that his persistence had conquered her resistance,—the resistance, that is, of her feelings. But there remained with her a feminine shame, which made it seem to her to be impossible that she should now reject Captain Aylmer, and as a consequence of that rejection, accept Will Belton's hand. As she thought of this, she could not see her way out of her trouble in that direction with any of that clearness which belonged to her in reference to Captain Aylmer.

She had been an hour in the house before he came, and never did an hour go so heavily with her. There was no employment for her about the place, and Mrs Bunce, the old woman who now lived there, could not understand why her late mistress chose to remain seated among the unused furniture. Clara had of course told her that a gentleman was coming. 'Not Mr Will?' said the woman. 'No; it is not Mr Will,' said Clara; 'his name is Captain Aylmer.' 'Oh, indeed.' And then Mrs Bunce looked at her with a mystified look. Why on earth should not the gentleman call on Miss Amedroz at Mrs Askerton's cottage? 'I'll be sure to show 'un up, when a comes, at any rate,' said the old woman solemnly and Clara felt that it was all very uncomfortable.

At last the gentleman did come, and was shown up with all the ceremony of which Mrs Bunce was capable. 'Here he be, mum.' Then Mrs Bunce paused a moment before she retreated, anxious to learn whether the new corner was a friend or a foe. She concluded from the captain's manner that he was a very dear friend, and then she departed.

'I hope you are not surprised at my coming,' said Captain Aylmer, still holding Clara by the hand.

'A little surprised,' she said, smiling.

'But not annoyed?'

'No;—not annoyed.'

'As soon as you had left Aylmer Park I felt that it was the right thing to do;—the only thing to do,—as I told my mother.'

'I hope you have not come in opposition to her wishes,' said Clara, unable to control a slight tone of banter as she spoke.

'In this matter I found myself compelled to act in accordance with my own judgment,' said he, untouched by her sarcasm.

'Then I suppose that Lady Aylmer is,—is vexed with you for coming here. I shall be so sorry for that;—so very sorry, as no good can come of it.'

'Well;—I am not so sure of that. My mother is a most excellent woman, one for whose opinions on all matters I have the highest possible value a value so high, that—that—that—'

'That you never ought to act in opposition to it. That is what you really mean, Captain Aylmer; and upon my word I think that you are right.'

'No, Clara; that is not what I mean not exactly that. Indeed, just at present I mean the reverse of that. There are some things on which a man must act on his own judgment, irrespectively of the opinions of any one else.'

'Not of a mother, Captain Aylmer?'

'Yes of a mother. That is to say, a man must do so. With a lady of course it is different. I was very, very sorry that there should have been any unpleasantness at Aylmer Park.'

'It was not pleasant to me, certainly.'

'Nor to any of us, Clara.'

'At any rate, it need not be repeated.'

'I hope not.'

'No it certainly need not be repeated. I know now that I was wrong to go to Aylmer Park. I felt sure beforehand that there were many things as to which I could not possibly agree with Lady Aylmer, and I ought not to have gone.'

'I don't see that at all, Clara.'

'I do see it now.'

'I can't understand you. What things? Why should you be determined to disagree with my mother? Surely you ought at any rate to endeavour to think as she thinks.'

'I cannot do that, Captain Aylmer.'

'I am sorry to hear you speak in this way. I have come here all the way from Yorkshire to try to put things straight between us; but you receive me as though you would remember nothing but that unpleasant quarrel.'

'It was so unpleasant,—so very unpleasant! I had better speak out the truth at once. I think that Lady Aylmer ill-used me cruelly. I do. No one can talk me out of that conviction. Of course I am sorry to be driven to say as much to you,—and I should never have said it, had you not come here. But when you speak of me and your mother together, I must say what I feel. Your mother and I, Captain Aylmer, are so opposed to each other, not only in feeling, but in opinions also, that it is impossible that we should be friends;—impossible that we should not be enemies if we are brought together.'

This she said with great energy, looking intently into his face as she spoke. He was seated near her, on a chair from which he was leaning over towards her, holding his hat in both hands between his legs. Now, as he listened to her, he drew his chair still nearer, ridding himself of his hat, which he left upon the carpet, and keeping his eyes upon hers as though he were fascinated. 'I am sorry to hear you speak like this,' he said.

'It is best to say the truth.'

'But, Clara, if you intend to be my wife—'

'Oh, no that is impossible now.'

'What is impossible?'

'Impossible that I should become your wife. Indeed I have convinced myself that you do not wish it.'

'But I do wish it.'

'No no. If you will question your heart about it quietly, you will find that you do not wish it.'

'You wrong me, Clara.'

'At any rate it cannot be so.'

'I will not take that answer from you,' he said, getting up from his chair, and walking once up and down the room. Then he returned to it, and repeated his words. 'I will not take that answer from you. An engagement such as ours cannot be put aside like an old glove. You do not mean to tell me that all that has been between us is to mean nothing.' There was something now like feeling in his tone, something like passion in his gesture, and Clara, though she had no thought of changing her purpose, was becoming unhappy at the idea of his unhappiness.

'It has meant nothing,' she said. 'We have been like children together, playing at being in love. It is a game from which you will come out scatheless, but I have been scalded.'

'Scalded!'

'Well never mind. I do not mean to complain, and certainly not of you.'

'I have come here all the way from Yorkshire in order that things may be put right between us.'

'You have been very good,—very good to come, and I will not say that I regret your trouble. It is best, I think, that we should meet each other once more face to face, so that we may understand each other. There was no understanding anything during those terrible days at Aylmer Park.' Then she paused, but as he did not speak at once she went on. 'I do not blame you for anything that has taken place, but I am quite sure of this that you and I could never be happy together as man and wife.'

'I do not know why you say so; I do not indeed.'

'You would disapprove of everything that I should do. You do disapprove of what I am doing now.'

'Disapprove of what?'

'I am staying with my friend, Mrs Askerton.'

He felt that this was hard upon him. As she had shown herself inclined to withdraw herself from him, he had become more resolute in his desire to follow her up, and to hold by his engagement. He was not employed now in giving her another chance as he had proposed to himself to do but was using what eloquence he had to obtain another chance for himself. Lady Aylmer had almost made him believe that Clara would be the suppliant, but now he was the suppliant himself. In his anxiety to keep her he was willing even to pass over her terrible iniquity in regard to Mrs Askerton that great sin which had led to all these troubles. He had once written to her about Mrs Askerton, using very strong language, and threatening her with his mother's full displeasure. At that time Mrs Askerton had simply been her friend. There had been no question then of her taking refuge under that woman's roof. Now she had repelled Lady Aylmer's counsels with scorn, was living as a guest in Mrs Askerton's house; and yet he was willing to pass over the Askerton difficulty without a word. He was willing not only to condone past offences, but to wink at existing iniquity! But she,—she who was the sinner, would not permit of this. She herself dragged up Mrs Askerton's name, and seemed to glory in her own shame.

'I had not intended,' said he, 'to speak of your friend.'

'I only mention her to show how impossible it is that we should ever agree upon some subjects as to which a husband and wife should always be of one mind. I knew this from the moment in which I got your letter and only that I was a coward I should have said so then.'

'And you mean to quarrel with me altogether?'

'No why should we quarrel?'

'Why, indeed?' said he.

'But I wish it to be settled,—quite settled, as from the nature of things it must be, that there shall be no attempt at renewal of our engagement. After what has passed, how could I enter your mother's house?'

'But you need not enter it.' Now, in his emergency he was willing to give up anything,—everything. He had been prepared to talk her over into a reconciliation with his mother, to admit that there had been faults on both sides, to come down from his high pedestal and discuss the matter as though Clara and his mother stood upon the same footing. Having recognized the spirit of his lady-love, he had told himself that so much indignity as that must be endured. But now, he had been carried so far beyond this, that he was willing, in the sudden vehemence of his love, to throw his mother over altogether, and to accede to any terms which Clara might propose to him. 'Of course, I would wish you to be friends,' he said, using now all the tones of a suppliant; 'but if you found that it could not be so—'

'Do you think that I would divide you from your mother?'

'There need be no question as to that.'

'Ah there you are wrong. There must be such questions. I should have thought of it sooner.'

'Clara, you are more to me than my mother. Ten times more.' As he said this he came up and knelt down beside her. 'You are everything to me. You will not throw me over.' He was a suppliant indeed, and such supplications are very potent with women. Men succeed often by the simple earnestness of their prayers. Women cannot refuse to give that which is asked for with so much of the vehemence of true desire. 'Clara, you have promised to be my wife. You have twice promised; and can have no right to go back because you are displeased with what my mother may have said. I am not responsible for my mother. Clara, say that you will be my wife.' As he spoke he strove to take her hand, and his voice sounded as though there were in truth something of passion in his heart.



CHAPTER XXIX

THERE IS NOTHING TO TELL

Captain Aylmer had never before this knelt to Clara Amedroz. Such kneeling on the part of lovers used to be the fashion because lovers in those days held in higher value than they do now that which they asked their ladies to give or because they pretended to do so. The forms at least of supplication were used; whereas in these wiser days Augustus simply suggests to Caroline that they two might as well make fools of themselves together and so the thing is settled without the need of much prayer. Captain Aylmer's engagement had been originally made somewhat after this fashion. He had not, indeed, spoken of the thing contemplated as a folly, not being a man given to little waggeries of that nature; but he had been calm, unenthusiastic, and reasonable. He had not attempted to evince any passion, and would have been quite content that Clara should believe that he married as much from obedience to his aunt as from love for herself, had he not found that Clara would not take him at all under such a conviction. But though she had declined to come to him after that fashion though something more than that had been needed still she had been won easily, and, therefore, lightly prized. I fear that it is so with everything that we value with our horses, our houses, our wines, and, above all, with our women. Where is the man who has heart and soul big enough to love a woman with increased force of passion because she has at once recognized in him all that she has herself desired? Captain Aylmer having won his spurs easily, had taken no care in buckling them, and now found, to his surprise, that he was like to lose them. He had told himself that he would only be too glad to shuffle his feet free of their bondage; but now that they were going from him, he began to find that they were very necessary for the road that he was to travel. 'Clara,' he said, kneeling by her side,' you are more to me than my mother; ten times more!'

This was all new to her. Hitherto, though she had never desired that he should assume such attitude as this, she had constantly been unconsciously wounded by his coldness by his cold propriety and unbending self-possession. His cold propriety and unbending self-possession were gone now, and he was there at her feet. Such an argument, used at Aylmer Park, would have conquered her would have won her at once, in spite of herself; but now she was minded to be resolute. She had sworn to herself that she would not peril herself, or him, by joining herself to a man with whom she had so little sympathy, and who apparently had none with her. But in what way was she to answer such a prayer as that which was now made to her? The man who addressed her was entitled to use all the warmth of an accepted lover. He only asked for that which had already been given to him.

'Captain Aylmer—' she began.

'Why is it to be Captain Aylmer? What have I done that you should use me in this way? It was not I who,—who,—made you unhappy at Aylmer Park.'

'I will not go back to that. It is of no use. Pray get up. It shocks me to see you in this way.'

'Tell me, then, that it is once more all right between us. Say that, and I shall be happier than I ever was before yes, than I ever was before. I know how much I love you now, how sore it would be to lose you. I have been wrong. I had not thought enough of that, but I will think of it now.'

She found that the task before her was very difficult,—so difficult that she almost broke down in performing it. It would have been so easy and, for the moment, so pleasant to have yielded. He had his hand upon her arm, having attempted to take her hand. In preventing that she had succeeded, but she could not altogether make herself free from him without rising. For a moment she had paused,—paused as though she were about to yield. For a moment, as he looked into her eyes, he had thought that he would again be victorious. Perhaps there was something in his glance, some too visible return of triumph to his eyes, which warned her of her danger. 'No!' she said, getting up and walking away from him; 'no!'

'And what does "no" mean, Clara?' Then he also rose, and stood leaning on the table. 'Does it mean that you will be forsworn?'

'It means this that I will not come between you and your mother; that I will not be taken into a family in which I am scorned; that I will not go to Aylmer Park myself or be the means of preventing you from going there.'

'There need be no question of Aylmer Park.'

'There shall be none!'

'But, so much being allowed, you will be my wife?'

'No, Captain Aylmer no. I cannot be your wife. Do not press it further; you must know that on such a subject I would think much before I answered you. I have thought much, and I know that I am right.'

'And your promised word is to go for nothing?'

'If it will comfort you to say so, you may say it. If you do not perceive that the mistake made between us has been as much your mistake as mine, and has injured me more than it has injured you, I will not remind you of it,—will never remind you of it after this.'

'But there has been no mistake and there shall be no injury.'

'Ah, Captain Aylmer you do not understand; you cannot understand. I would not for worlds reproach you; but do you think I suffered nothing from your mother?'

'And must I pay for her sins?'

'There shall be no paying, no punishment, and no reproaches. There shall be none at least from me. But,—do not think that I speak in anger or in pride,—I will not marry into Lady Aylmer's family.'

'This is too bad,—too bad! After all that is past, it is too bad!'

'What can I say? Would you advise me to do that which would make us both wretched?'

'It would not make me wretched. It would make me happy. It would satisfy me altogether.'

'It cannot be, Captain Aylmer. It cannot be. When I speak to you in that way, will you not let it be final?'

He paused a moment before he spoke again, and then he turned sharp upon her. 'Tell me this, Clara; do you love me? Have you ever loved me?' She did not answer him, but stood there, listening quietly to his accusations. 'You have never loved me, and yet you have allowed yourself to say that you did. Is not that true?' Still she did not answer. 'I ask you whether that is not true?' But though he asked her, and paused for an answer, looking the while full into her face, yet she did not speak. And now I suppose you will become your cousin's wife?' he said. 'It will suit you to change, and to say that you love him.'

Then at last she spoke. 'I did not think that you would have treated me in this way, Captain Aylmer! I did not expect that you would insult me!'

'I have not insulted you.'

'But your manner to me makes my task easier than I could have hoped it to be. You asked me whether I ever loved you? I once thought that I did so; and so thinking, told you, without reserve, all my feeling. When I came to find that I had been mistaken, I conceived myself bound by my engagement to rectify my own error as best I could; and I resolved, wrongly as I now think, very wrongly that I could learn as your wife to love you. Then came circumstances which showed me that a release would be good for both of us, and which justified me in accepting it. No girl could be bound by any engagement to a man who looked on and saw her treated in his own home, by his own mother, as you saw me treated at Aylmer Park. I claim to be released myself, and I know that this release is as good for you as it is for me.'

'I am the best judge of that.'

'For myself at any rate I will judge. For myself I have decided. Now I have answered the questions which you asked me as to my love for yourself. To that other question which you have thought fit to put to me about my cousin, I refuse to give any answer whatsoever.' Then, having said so much, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, and left him standing there alone.

We need not follow her as she went up, almost mechanically, into her own room the room that used to be her own and then shut herself in, waiting till she should be assured, first by sounds in the house, and then by silence, that he was gone. That she fell away greatly from the majesty of her demeanour when she was thus alone, and descended to the ordinary ways of troubled females, we may be quite sure. But to her there was no further difficulty. Her work for the day was done. In due time she would take herself to the cottage, and all would be well, or, at any rate, comfortable with her. But what was he to do? How was he to get himself out of the house, and take himself back to London? While he had been in pursuit of her, and when he was leaving his vehicle at the public-house in the village of Belton, he like some other invading generals had failed to provide adequately for his retreat. When he was alone he took a turn or two about the room, half thinking that Clara would return to him. She could hardly leave him alone in a strange house him, who, as he had twice told her, had come all the way from Yorkshire to see her. But she did not return, and gradually he came to understand that he must provide for his own retreat without assistance. He was hardly aware, even now, how greatly he had transcended his usual modes of speech and action, both in the energy of his supplication and in the violence of his rebuke. He had been lifted for awhile out of himself by the excitement of his position, and now that he was subsiding into quiescence, he was unconscious that he had almost mounted into passion that he had spoken of love very nearly with eloquence. But he did recognize this as a fact that Clara was not to be his wife, and that he had better get back from Belton to London as quickly as possible. It would be well for him to teach himself to look back on the result of his aunt's dying request as an episode in his life satisfactorily concluded. His mother had undoubtedly been right. Clara, he could see now, would have led him a devil of a life; and even had she come to him possessed of a moiety of the property a supposition as to which he had very strong doubts still she might have been dear at the money. 'No real feeling,' he said to himself, as he walked about the room 'none whatever; and then so deficient in delicacy!' But still he was discontented because he had been rejected, and therefore tried to make himself believe that he could still have her if he chose to persevere. 'But no,' he said, as he continued to pace the room, 'I have done everything,—more than everything that honour demands. I shall not ask her again. It is her own fault. She is an imperious woman, and my mother read her character aright.' It did not occur to him, as he thus consoled himself for what he had lost, that his mother's accusation against Clara had been altogether of a different nature. When we console ourselves by our own arguments, we are not apt to examine their accuracy with much strictness.

But whether he were consoled or not, it was necessary that he should go, and in his going he felt himself to be ill-treated. He left the room, and as he went down stairs was disturbed and tormented by the creaking of his own boots. He tried to be dignified as he walked through the hall, and was troubled at his failure, though he was not conscious of any one looking at him. Then it was grievous that he should have to let himself out of the front door without attendance. At ordinary times he thought as little of such things as most men, and would not be aware whether he opened a door for himself or had it opened for him by another but now there was a distressing awkwardness in the necessity for self-exertion. He did not know the turn of the handle, and was unfamiliar with the manner of exit. He was being treated with indignity, and before he had escaped from the house had come to think that the Amedroz and Belton people were somewhat below him. He endeavoured to go out without a noise, but there was a slam of the door, without which he could not get the lock to work; and Clara, up in her own room, knew all about it.

'Carriage;—yes; of course I want the carriage,' he said to the unfortunate boy at the public-house. 'Didn't you hear me say that I wanted it?' He had come down with a pair of horses, and as he saw them being put to the vehicle he wished he had been contented with one. As he was standing there, waiting, a gentleman rode by, and the boy, in answer to his question, told him that the horseman was Colonel Askerton. Before the day was over Colonel Askerton would probably know all that had happened to him. 'Do move a little quicker; will you?' he said to the boy and the old man who was to drive him. Then he got into the carriage, and was driven out of Belton, devoutly purposing that he never would return; and as he made his way back to Perivale he thought of a certain Lady Emily, who would, as he assured himself, have behaved much better than Clara Amedroz had done in any such scene as that which had just taken place.

When Clara was quite sure that Captain Aylmer was off the premises, she, too, descended, but she did not immediately leave the house. She walked through the room, and rang for the old woman, and gave certain directions as to the performance of which she certainly was not very anxious, and was careful to make Mrs Bunce understand that nothing had occurred between her and the gentleman that was either exalting or depressing in its nature. 'I suppose Captain Aylmer went out, Mrs Bunce?' 'Oh yes, miss, a went out. I stood and see'd un from the top of the kitchen stairs.' 'You might have opened the door for him, Mrs Bunce.' 'Indeed then I never thought of it, miss, seeing the house so empty and the like.' Clara said that it did not signify; and then, after an hour of composure, she walked back across the park to the cottage.

'Well?' said Mrs Askerton as soon as Clara was inside the drawing-room.

'Well,' replied Clara.

'What have you got to tell? Do tell me what you have to tell.'

'I have nothing to tell.'

'Clara, that is impossible. Have you seen him? I know you have seen him, because he went by from the house about an hour since.'

'Oh yes; I have seen him.'

'And what have you said to him?'

'Pray do not ask me these questions just now. I have got to think of it all to think what he did say and what I said.'

'But you will tell me.'

'Yes; I suppose so.' Then Mrs Askerton was silent on the subject for the remainder of the day, allowing Clara even to go to bed without another question. And nothing was asked on the following morning nothing till the usual time for the writing of letters.

'Shall you have anything for the post?' said Mrs Askerton.

'There is plenty of time yet.'

'Not too much if you mean to go out at all. Come, Clara, you had better write to him at once.'

'Write to whom? I don't know that I have any letter to write at all.' Then there was a pause. 'As far as I can see,' she said, 'I may give up writing altogether for the future, unless some day you may care to hear from me.'

'But you are not going away.'

'Not just yet if you will keep me. To tell you the truth, Mrs Askerton, I do not yet know where on earth to take myself.'

'Wait here till we turn you out.'

'I have got to put my house in order. You know what I mean. The job ought not to be a troublesome one, for it is a very small house.'

'I suppose I know what you mean.'

'It will not be a very smart establishment. But I must look it all in the face; must I not? Though it were to be no house at all, I cannot stay here all my life.'

'Yes, you may. You have lost Aylmer Park because you were too noble not to come to us.'

'No,' said Clara, speaking aloud, with bright eyes almost with her hands clenched. 'No I deny that.'

'I shall choose to think so for my own purposes. Clara, you are savage to me;—almost always savage; but next to him I love you better than all the world beside. And so does he. "It's her courage," he said to me the other day. "That she should dare to do as she pleases here, is nothing; but to have dared to persevere in the fangs of that old dragon,"—it was just what he said,—"that was wonderful!"'